


The Best Laid Plans (And That Is Not a Double Entendre)

by BuckinghamAlice



Series: Spending Holidays with the SuperBats [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Bat Family, Domestic, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied dickbabs - Freeform, Implied stephcass, Living a day in the life of Alfred Pennyworth, M/M, St. Patrick's Day will be better, Valentine's Day, the fic where I almost lost it completely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckinghamAlice/pseuds/BuckinghamAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Valentine's Day, and hopeless romantic Bruce has special plans for Clark.  But before they have a chance to spend the evening together, life implodes in a pit of troublesome kids, teen drama, injury, chaos, and oatmeal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Laid Plans (And That Is Not a Double Entendre)

**Author's Note:**

> Really, I was planning to have this posted a couple of days ago but my brain and my muse fought me the whole way so... I got it here at just the last minute. And interestingly enough, it's the longest of my holiday fics yet.

Valentine’s Day began at Wayne Manor with a crash at around ten o’clock on the night of the thirteenth of February.  Alfred was preparing to take coffee down to Bruce in the Batcave when he remembered that the trash needed to go out before morning, and though taking out the trash was a chore for the boys, the kitchen bins were still full.  Alfred had sighed and taken the trash out, but he slipped on the icy ground outside and fell, skidding into the trashcans and bruising his tailbone and seriously spraining his ankle in the process.

Clark was working in his office when he heard a strained cry of, “Good heavens!”  His head snapped up at once, and after the split second it took him to realize what must have happened, he moved like lightning to get to Alfred.

He was struggling and trying to stand when Clark arrived.  “Wait, sit still,” he said before Alfred could protest.

“Master Clark,” he sighed.  “I dare say this isn’t nearly as serious as it looks.  I should be back about momentarily, if you’ll help me to my feet.”

But Clark had already x-rayed him and shook his head sadly.  “Oh, no.  I’m afraid you nearly broke your tailbone and ankle.  Too close not to see a doctor.  We’re going to need to get you to the hospital.”

“That won’t be necessary,” he said quickly.

Clark sighed.  “And you complain about how stubborn Bruce is… you’re just as bad.  It _is_ necessary.”

“Oh, very well,” Alfred huffed.  “If you insist.”

 

Clark and Bruce took Alfred to the hospital and waited for hours, until they were sure that he was stable and nothing was actually broken… and that the doctors and nurses were doing everything they could to make him comfortable.  The emergency room doctor said that it would be best to keep Alfred overnight for observation, and he was already complaining at “the fuss” that was being made over him.  And it was going to get worse before it got better as he was going to be off of his feet for a while.

The two men were tired, mentally and physically, as they returned home and trudged up to bed, so they were mostly quiet.  It wasn’t until they were in their pajamas and about to climb into bed that Bruce commented, “We’ll be stretched thin around here until Alfred is back up and about.”

Clark yawned.  “Which won’t be for quite some time.”

Bruce nodded.  “I know.”  Then, after a momentary pause, he said, “Valentine’s Day.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Clark rushed to say.  “It isn’t important.”

“It _is_ ,” Bruce said firmly, eyebrow raised.  “And I have plans.  You’re going to love it.   We’re going to be able to manage the house _and_ spend time together.”

Clark sighed and got under the blankets.  He had to wonder if Bruce actually knew just how much Alfred did for them all… and how much slack they’d be picking up.  He knew Bruce must know on an intellectual level, because he knew everything on an intellectual level… but theory and practice aren’t exactly the same.  But he didn’t pursue the conversation.  It was very late and he had to be up very early… and he was very tired.  It could hold.  It could hold until morning.

 

Clark woke up a little earlier than usual and for a moment, as he lie in bed with Bruce wrapped around him, he wasn’t sure _why_ he was awake, but he did know he wanted to stay in bed much longer.  He closed his eyes again, but then a small wave of apprehension hit him, and he remembered.  Alfred was in the hospital, and that meant there was work to be done.

Starting with breakfast.

Clark tried to gently shift Bruce away from him without waking him up (because he didn’t need his husband holding his hand to prepare a simple breakfast) but he held fast to Clark’s side.

“Sit still,” he grumbled.

Clark kissed the top of Bruce’s head and said, “I have to make breakfast.”

“Toast,” Bruce grumbled further, still not yielding.

Clark let out a little laugh.  “And if there’s no bread?”

“Then let them eat… cereal,” Bruce responded.  Then, moving slightly, he added, “Dammit, Clark.”

“What did _I_ do?” Clark asked, eyebrow raised.

“I almost said, ‘let them eat cake,’” Bruce grumbled.  “Which I would not have done before I got involved with you.  And now I’m awake.”

Clark smiled as he scooted away and stood up.  “No… go back to sleep.  I’ll handle the kids this morning and see you this evening.  Okay?”  Bruce made a grunting sound and rolled onto his side, and before Clark was even out of the room, he was back asleep.

Clark heaved a little sigh of relief that Dick and Jason were out of the house and Cass had slept over with Stephanie the previous night.  He only had to feed two.

And they were already downstairs in the kitchen, waiting – not necessarily for him, or even for food, but seemingly for the morning to start so the day could soon be over.  Clark found Tim, resting his head on the breakfast table but hugging a mug of coffee close to himself, and Damian, who was fixing himself a bowl of cereal.  Actually, it was more like a trough of sugar, because he was making it in Alfred’s largest mixing bowl (the one he used when he made two layer sheet cakes) and he was combining Froot Loops and Smacks and sprinkling at least three tablespoons worth of sugar over the top.

“You made coffee but you couldn’t attempt food?” Clark asked as he swept into the kitchen and took Damian’s bowl.

“Hey!” the youngest shouted as Tim grumbled something unintelligible.

“You are _not_ eating this,” Clark said.  “Your father would kill me, and then Alfred would kill him, and that all sounds too messy.  We have to have something sound and nutritious for breakfast… something like Alfred would make.”

“Frenka,” Tim grumbled into his arm.

Clark furrowed his brow as he went for the fridge.  “Huh?”

“Pancakes,” Damian replied.  “He said you should make pancakes.”

There were a couple of eggs in their compartment in the refrigerator door, but it reminded Clark that they’d need to go grocery shopping.  This was Alfred’s marketing day.  Clark mentally amended that _he’d_ need to do that, actually, because Bruce would probably get frustrated too easily in a grocery store and bring home everything.  But he’d worry about that later.  Right now he grabbed an egg and the can of instant buttermilk and said, “Okay.  Pancakes it is.”

“ _I_ don’t want pancakes,” Damian complained.  “I want French toast.”

Clark knew there wouldn’t be enough eggs for both, so he asked, “Tim?”

“Whatever,” he grumbled, finally lifting his head.  “I’m not hungry anyways.”

“You have to eat,” Clark said gently.  He went back to the fridge and put away the buttermilk and got the milk from where Damian had left it when he was pouring his cereal.  He started mixing the eggs and milk, added a bit of vanilla, some brown sugar, and a generous sprinkling of cinnamon.  Then, he turned his head toward Damian and said, “Will you get the bread?”

The boy had just hopped out of his seat and was about to move when Tim said, “There isn’t any bread.”

“ _What_?” Clark asked.  Then he sighed, thinking back to the snippet of conversation with Bruce.  “You knew that and you still let me mix this?”  Tim shrugged and Damian pouted, but Clark was at a loss for what to feed the boys.  No bread meant no toast or sandwiches, and now eggs were out too, as he’d mixed all that they had in preparation for the French toast.

“Okay, new plan,” Clark said, mostly to himself.  He pulled out half a pack of turkey bacon and saw some apples in the fruit bowl on the counter.  “We’ll have a couple of slices of turkey bacon, an apple a piece, and…” He paused to think for a moment.  “Some oatmeal.  That sticks to your ribs.”

“Oatmeal?” both boys asked, almost scandalized.

“Oatmeal,” Clark reiterated with a nod.  “You need a solid meal, and it doesn’t get much more solid than that.”

 

After the boys were fed (with Damian loudly complaining that “oatmeal is for children and invalids” and Tim sucking down two more cups of coffee before Clark cut him off, causing the teen to pout for the rest of breakfast), he sent them off to school.  By that time, he was already late for work himself, so he scrambled back upstairs to dress and head out.  He was surprised to find that Bruce was already up and about and getting ready for his day.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, lacing his shoes, and when he heard the door open, he simply said, “Coffee.”

“Good morning to you too, _dear_.  And get your own coffee,” Clark replied playfully, making his way to the bathroom.  “ _I’m_ not your butler.”  He hopped in and out of the shower in less than a minute and found Bruce waiting for him with a towel when he got out.  “Thank you.”

“Hm,” Bruce acknowledged.  “Married people do things for one another.”

Clark raised an eyebrow as he dried himself with the towel.  “Okay.  There’s another shoe about to drop, isn’t there?”

“Afraid so,” Bruce sighed.  “Lucius called.  There’s been an emergency meeting called at the Chicago office and I have to be there.”

Clark nodded.  “Okay… and how long are you going to be gone?”

“I’ll be back this evening, if I can swing it,” he said.  “But you’re going to have to handle everything here in the meanwhile.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Clark said confidently.  “I mean, the kids are going to be at school…”

“I’ll actually need Tim with me,” Bruce cut in.

Clark shook his head.  “I already sent him to school.”

“Why?” Bruce demanded.

Clark scoffed.  “Because he’s a teenage boy.  They go to school.”

Bruce sighed.  “Well, then I guess I’ll have to leave even sooner than I thought if I’m going to have to go by the school and pick him up.”

“Don’t get short with _me_ ,” Clark said, turning around.  “I couldn’t have known…”

“I know,” Bruce went on, shaking his head.  “I’m not.  Or I didn’t mean to.”

Clark smiled as he walked out of the bathroom and toward the closet.  “It’s fine.  But you know, you might want to talk to Tim… he was dragging even more than usual this morning.  I think something might be going on with him.”

Bruce sighed.  “Okay.  Thank you… for the head’s up.”  He started to walk away but Clark caught him by the wrist and pulled him close for a kiss, soft and sweet and quiet, and just as loving as any they’d ever shared.

When they broke, Clark sighed, “At least I got a kiss from my valentine.”

“You’re going to get much more than that,” Bruce all but growled.  “Don’t you worry.”  Clark sighed and watched him go, not nearly convinced that they’d be seeing one another that evening.  But Bruce seemed hopeful, and that was nice and unexpected… so Clark tried to make himself believe as much as Bruce seemed to.

 

Clark was at work, well into his day, when he got the call.  It was Damian’s school, and panic surged through him when he saw the name on the caller ID, as he had found that it was easy to panic where Damian was concerned. 

“Um, hello?” he answered.

“Mr. Kent?” a voice asked.

“Yes,” Clark responded.  “Is everything…?”

“This is Principal Tyler at your stepson Damian’s school,” the woman said.  “We need you to come down here right away and pick him up.  He’s been suspended for three days.”

Clark sighed and furrowed his brows.  “ _Suspended_?  Why?”

“Can you just… come and get him?” Principal Tyler asked.

“Well, yes,” Clark sighed again.  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

 

Clark always took the train to work because he enjoyed the calm and quiet the commute from Gotham to Metropolis gave him.  But the train ride was an hour and a half – too long to keep Damian waiting in the principal’s office – so he flew back to Gotham and then went to the train station to get his car, which he then drove to Damian’s school.

When he went into the office, he found Damian, sitting with his arms crossed and the Wayne Family Scowl plastered across his face.  Clark actually had to roll his eyes.

“What happened?” he asked the boy.

But before Damian could answer, the receptionist spoke up, “Are you his father?”

Clark was about to respond to that when Damian said, “He’s my stepdad.”  The receptionist asked Clark to have a seat and wait for the principal to be available to speak with them, so he quietly sat down next to Damian with a smile on his face.  That was the first time he had called him that.  He would have texted Bruce, but he figured he was probably in his meeting right about then, and he didn’t want to explain this whole principal’s office thing over text message… especially not before he himself had the whole story.

 

Forty-five minutes later, Damian was sitting in the passenger seat of his stepdad’s car, with his arms crossed, still wearing that scowl.  Clark watched the boy out the corner of his eye, and when he came to a red light, he plugged in his iPod and put it on shuffle.  The first song to come up was “Good Vibrations” by the Beach Boys.  Damian groaned deeply and Clark grinned.

“I’ll let you DJ if you talk,” Clark offered.

Damian shook his head.  “Nothing to talk about.”

“You threatened your teacher,” Clark countered.

“He started it,” Damian grumbled, and anyone else wouldn’t have been able to hear him over the sounds of the music filling the car.

Clark began to sing along and Damian covered his ears.  “Spare me, Kent.”

“You think this is bad, I swear to God I’ll put on ‘Kokomo’ next if you don’t start offering some explanation for what happened at school today,” Clark said, sounding maybe a bit triumphant.  “And I know all the words to that one too.”

“Fine!  It was… this girl in my class,” Damian began reluctantly.  “There was this jackass making fun of her because of her clothes.  But my father and I… well, I’ve seen her house, and her family doesn’t have much.  So I told him to stop.”

Clark turned the music down a little.  “And?”

“And what?” Damian asked.  “If you’re expecting me to say I’m sorry I kicked him in the face you’ll be waiting for a while… because I’m _not_ sorry.”

“Well, you were right to defend that girl then,” Clark said.  “But kicking the other boy was wrong, whether or not you’re sorry… and I think you know that.  And you should also know that threatening your teacher is never acceptable.”

Damian rolled his eyes.  “It was hardly a threat.”

“He said he threatened to give you detention and you told him you would make him regret the day he was born,” Clark replied, brows furrowed. 

“Well, I didn’t _do_ anything to him,” Damian maintained.  “So he should be thanking his lucky stars for that!”

When they arrived back at the Manor, Damian stomped up to the house and through the door.  Clark watched him with an unimpressed look on his face.  “You know I have to tell your father all of this when he comes home,” he said.  “And right now, I think you should go up to your room and read a book or do something quiet.”

“You can’t tell me what to do, you know,” Damian replied, arms crossed and defiant look on his face.

Clark sighed.  “Damian –“

“You’re not my real dad!” Damian yelled.  Then, collecting himself after that outburst, his cheeks suddenly red, he went on, “I think I will go upstairs.  Excuse me, Kent.”  He ran up the stairs and in a few seconds his door slammed shut.

Clark sighed and shook his head.  He wasn’t sure how else to react to that.  He checked the time on his cell phone and saw that it was nearly two o’clock.  The day was slipping away, and he still had things to do – starting with getting to the grocery store.  Rather than trying to talk to Damian, he sent him a text message saying he’d be going out and Damian was to stay put until he got back.  He sighed to himself, because even _he_ didn’t believe that the boy would listen.

 

By the time Clark got back from the grocery store, Dick was at the Manor.  He heaved a little sigh of relief when he saw his eldest stepson’s car in the driveway because he knew no one, not even Alfred, could handle Damian quite the way Dick did.  He was loaded down with bags when he came in, but he smiled when he saw Dick walking down the stairs.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said.

Dick smiled.  “Hi, Clark.  The kid sounded down so I had to come check in on him.  Think he’s gonna be okay, though.”

“Yeah,” Clark said with a nod.  “He’s getting a vacation from school… he should be happy.”

“Oh,” Dick replied.  “No… I meant the whole ‘not my real dad’ thing.  He was embarrassed.  But he’ll get over it.  You’re…?”

Clark shrugged and smiled.  “I’m fine.  I mean, he’s not wrong.”

“Doesn’t mean he meant it,” Dick said with a shrug.  “Listen, I told him I’d hang out with him tonight.  You don’t think his old man’ll mind, do you?”

With a smile, Clark replied, “He’ll be grateful.  He’s apparently got this whole thing planned for us this evening.”

“What’s special about this evening?” Dick asked, plucking an apple from the top of one of the bags.

“Seriously?” Clark asked with a smile.  “It’s… Valentine’s Day…”

Dick’s face showed that he clearly had forgotten the holiday.  “Oh… shit.”  He looked at his phone, presumably to double check the date, and repeated, “Shit.  I.. I gotta go, and I have to call Babs and try to get reservations somewhere…”  He was still talking to himself as he walked out the door and Clark merely shook his head.

 

Clark put all the groceries away, though he had a sneaking suspicion that he’d put a few things in different places than Alfred would have.  He hadn’t heard from Bruce since he left in the morning, so he wasn’t expecting him to be back for whatever plans he had made.  He sighed to himself and kept going, deciding not to dwell on that disappointment.  Returning his attention to the food, he noted to himself that he had gotten a bag of frozen ravioli and a jar of sauce to make dinner, but it was still a bit early for the meal.  For the time being, he went to his office upstairs and decided to try and get some of the work he had left that afternoon done.

After some time, Cassandra and Stephanie came home and he soon heard the sounds of them training down in the Batcave.  Things were mostly quiet in Damian’s room, save the sound of him listening to his iPod and a pencil scratching against paper (he was probably drawing).  That was a relief.

Things were actually… calm around the Manor until nearly five-thirty, when the car Bruce had taken that morning came roaring up the long, winding driveway.  Clark smiled, because for a minute, he thought that maybe Bruce had been right and they would get their special evening.  But when the passenger door of the car flung open and Tim bolted from the car and into the house, he could just feel that there had been… complications.  When Bruce got out of the car, he cast a glance up towards Clark’s office window, so Clark decided to go downstairs and meet Bruce in the foyer. 

He passed Tim on the stairs and started to say hello, but he streaked by so quickly there was little use in it.  His eyes went to Bruce, who was standing at the bottom of the stairs looking… exhausted.  He gave his sad looking husband a sympathetic smile and wrapped his arms around him as soon as he was close enough.  “Didn’t go well?”

Bruce sighed.  “The meeting was fine, crisis averted, but Tim…”

“What’s going on with him?” Clark asked.  “Is he okay?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce replied.  “I tried to talk to him, but I apparently said the wrong thing because he started _crying_ and accused me of attacking him.  He hasn’t spoken to me since before we left Chicago.”

“That doesn’t sound like him,” Clark commented.  “Poor kid.  Maybe we should try to talk to him together?”

“He’d probably feel like we were ganging up on him,” Bruce said with a shrug.  “I know I would if I were in his shoes.”

“You’re probably right,” Clark sighed.  “Still… hate to see him upset.”  His voice trailed off and he glanced up toward the second floor, but he respected Tim’s privacy too much to peek.  Turning back to his husband with a sigh, he said, “I guess we’ll just have to let him deal with it on his own for now… at least until he comes to us.”  He paused again.  “Well… I guess I should go make dinner…”

“ _Make_ dinner?” Bruce asked.  “Don’t tell me you forgot we had plans.”

“Well, of course not.  But we can’t go out and leave the boys as they are now,” Clark replied.  “It’s not just Tim… I was going to wait to tell you about this until you were sitting down, but Damian got sent home from school early.  I had to go get him from the principal’s office.”

Bruce just sighed.  “Who did he injure this time?”

“Well, he kicked another boy, but he claims he was defending a girl that was being bullied,” Clark explained.  “But he _did_ threaten his teacher.  He got suspended for three days.”

If possible, Bruce looked even more tired than before.  “What did you say to him?”

“Not much,” Clark shrugged.  “I told him he should go to his room, and he gave me the famous line, ‘you’re not my real dad.’  And then he sent _himself_ up to his room and hasn’t come out since.”

Bruce smiled a very genuine looking smile at that.  “Clark, that’s… a big deal, you know.  It means he thinks of you as his stepfather, his family… not _just_ the strange alien man who’s sleeping with his dad.”

“Can’t it be both?” Clark asked, brow raised.

Bruce cocked his head and said, “Well, it is.  But it’s also progress.”

“Well, he did refer to me as his stepdad in the office,” Clark said.  “Not even ‘stepfather.’  I did like that.”

Bruce nodded.  “Good.  I knew he’d be coming around.”

Clark flashed a sad smile.  “But you know, I don’t think he meant much by it.  He got embarrassed by that ‘not my real dad’ remark… like he knew he sounded like every other step or adopted kid ever.”

“Clark, he was probably embarrassed because he practically admitted you matter to him,” Bruce said.  “You can only get a burst of temper if you care.”

Clark rolled his eyes.  “Well, no wonder he was embarrassed… I know how you Waynes hate to share your feelings with anyone.”

“I have no problem sharing my feelings,” Bruce replied playfully.  “I share them with you in regular intervals… perhaps tonight, if you’re lucky.”

Clark smiled and took Bruce’s hand.  “You know I’m dying to see what you have in store for me, but I don’t think we’re going to be able to do anything special tonight…”

Bruce used his free hand to check the time on his phone and said, “We can still make dinner… the reservations aren’t until seven.”

“And what are we going to do about _them_?” Clark asked, pointing upstairs.  “With them both in their states and no one else here…”

Bruce sighed.  “They’ll manage.  They better… I’ve been planning this for weeks.”

“Weeks?” Clark asked, smiling softly.  That was a pleasant surprise.  But before he could respond further, he heard one of the bedroom doors open, and within a moment, Tim appeared at the top of the staircase.  Clark and Bruce looked at once another briefly before watching him calmly and determinedly descend the stairs and approach them.

“Bruce,” Tim began.  “This afternoon, I was upset… that… wasn’t about you.  I hope you understand.”

Bruce nodded.  “I assumed.”

“You see, I had a… disagreement with Conner,” he went on.  “But he called just now and we patched things.  He actually invited me to come spend the weekend with him.”  Then, glancing at Clark specifically, “Your parents said it’s okay… if it’s okay with Bruce.  Can I…?”

Bruce sighed, and he and Clark exchanged a serious glance.  They both knew that Tim and Conner were dating, though the boys had tried (and failed) to be discreet.  They had discussed discouraging the relationship (now that they were married) but it didn’t seem fair to the boys.  But a whole weekend?  Well, it wasn’t like they could do anything over a whole weekend that they couldn’t just as easily do in seven or ten minutes while returning from Titans missions, and the two fathers didn’t kid themselves into thinking that Tim and Conner’s relationship was already physical.  There was really no reason to try and keep them apart, which would force them both to continue to be unhappy.

After all, they wanted the same thing Clark and Bruce did… the chance to spend Valentine’s Day together.

Bruce sighed.  “I suppose it’s fine.  But you two… be careful.  And listen to the Kents.”

“Good,” Tim said.  “Because Conner’s on his way to get me now.  Thank you.”  Tim ran back up the stairs, and soon Conner sailed in through his bedroom window and they flew off together.

“You know, he was going to go no matter what you said,” Clark observed.

Bruce sighed.  “I know.  And that hardheaded boy of yours was going to carry him off regardless.”

Clark laughed.  “You make him sound like a caveman!”

“Like father, like son,” Bruce replied suggestively.  Clark grinned and came a little closer, and Bruce licked his lips.  Just as Clark was about to swoop in for a kiss, Bruce’s phone began to ring.  “I’m… I don’t have to answer that.”

Clark got close enough to whisper against Bruce’s lips, “Answer it.  Could be important.”

Bruce groaned, but he did pull the phone out of his pocket.  “Oh,” he said, once he had glanced at the caller ID.  “It’s the hospital.”  Bruce tensed visibly and Clark furrowed his brows and frowned nervously.

“Hello?” Bruce asked. – “Speaking.” – “Oh.  I see.” – “Yes, that’s fine.” – “Right.  I’ll be there right away.”  He hung up the phone and slipped it back into his pocket.  “They’re releasing Alfred.  They say he should be just fine, but he’d be more comfortable at home, and there was no reason to keep monitoring him.”

“Let’s go,” Clark said.

 

It was well after eight o’clock before Clark, Bruce, and Alfred made it back to the Manor.  There had been hold up after hold up at the hospital – the head nurse sending up discharge papers for the wrong patient, having to wait for a prescription to be signed by a doctor that had left the building hours ago, a mix-up with the insurance, waiting for a person from transportation (because there was apparently a rule that a patient’s family couldn’t just push the patient’s wheelchair… you had to be a professional to do that), and finally waiting for the prescription to be filled.

Once back at home, they helped Alfred to his room and got him situated in bed and told him to call if he needed anything.  The man agreed, but he looked upset.  “What is it, Alfred?” Bruce asked.  “Is anything wrong?”

“I hate needing you two to do things for me,” he sighed.  “And I’d just like to apologize for ruining your evening, sirs.”

“Alfred, you don’t need to apologize,” Clark replied.  “It’s not as if you hurt yourself on purpose… and even if you had, making sure that you’re okay is way more important than…” He glanced up at Bruce, who looked a bit… downtrodden, so he let his voice trail off.

“Get some rest, Alfred,” Bruce said.  “And remember, in my life, you’ve told me more times than I can count that there’s no shame in needing help.  That goes for you too.”

 

 After they left Alfred’s room, Bruce sent a text message to Damian, Cassandra, and Stephanie and told them they could fend for themselves for dinner – frozen food, sandwiches, cereal, ordering a pizza… he didn’t care. 

He took Clark’s hand and started pulling him in the direction of their room.  “Bed,” he grumbled.

“Aww, poor little husband’s all worn out,” Clark said, mock concern in his voice.

Bruce stopped and turned to face him.  “Clark.  Bed.”

“Oh, _bed_ ,” Clark reiterated.  “Sounds wonderful.”  Clark smiled and Bruce raised an eyebrow, so they hurried off.  Once they were finally in their bedroom, Clark came close and ran his hand up Bruce’s arm.  “I’m sorry today didn’t work out like we wanted it to.”

Bruce sighed.  “Well, there’s no need for _you_ to apologize… it wasn’t your fault.”

“I know,” Clark said with a shrug.  “I just know how much you were looking forward to this night… and I’m sorry to see you disappointed.”

Bruce gave a tired smile.  “I was looking forward to surprising _you_.  You would have liked what I planned.”

Clark smiled.  “I’m sure I would have.  Tell me about it, since we don’t get to do it.  Was there a whole itinerary?  I bet there was.”

“Oh, I had the whole evening planned,” Bruce said, loosening his tie.  “I was going to pick you up from work.  I would have planned to bring flowers, but I ordered a bouquet to be delivered to you around two o’clock… but since you weren’t in the office, Lois probably accepted the delivery for you… and I imagine they’ll be waiting on your desk Monday morning, probably dead, or at least very nearly dead.  Anyways, after I picked you up, we’d go to that Italian place you like –"

Clark interrupted, smiling.  “You hate that place.”

“No, no,” Bruce said, shaking his head.  “Hate the location, nothing against the establishment.”  Then, raising a brow slightly, he asked, “Shall I go on?”

Smiling, Clark sat on the edge of the bed and nodded.  “Yes, please do.  I’m intrigued by where this is all leading.”

“Well, I arranged for candles and soft violin music… just like in all your corny old movies.  And after the meal, dessert and all, we would walk under the stars over to the park,” Bruce went on.  “And we’d take one of those insipid horse-drawn carriage rides.”

Clark rolled his eyes at “insipid” but smiled otherwise.  “This sounds lovely.”

Bruce nodded.  “It would have been.  After that, we were going to spend the night in the Grand Hotel.”

“Aww,” Clark sighed.  “I love the Grand.”

“I know,” Bruce replied.  “And I was going to wear… well, I don’t suppose I should mention it if you won’t get to see it.”

Clark grinned.  “Wait a minute.  What were you going to wear?”

Bruce smirked and raised an eyebrow.  “Beside the point now.  We don’t have time.”

“ _Time_?” Clark asked.  “Ahh, was it the blue thing with the things?”

“A new thing,” Bruce said, shaking his head.  “But that’ll have to wait for next time.”

Clark nodded.  “I suppose.  But we’re still going to do all those things… because it sounded perfect.”

“We’ll do all of that… just not tonight,” Bruce said with a sigh.

“I guess it doesn’t matter what we do, as long as we get to spend a little time together,” Clark replied.

Bruce frowned.  “Don’t say that.  That’s what you’d say if I hadn’t made plans and disappointed you.”

Clark smiled softly and grabbed Bruce’s hand.  He pulled him closer and reached up to remove the tie Bruce had previously loosened.  “You never disappoint me.  And… you know, there’s still time left.  It’s still our day, valentine… or our night at least.  And you never told me what was going to happen next.  At the hotel.”

Bruce caressed Clark’s face and returned the smile.  “I was planning on making you come over and over again… until your voice was hoarse from screaming my name.”

Clark nodded.  “I like the sound of that.”

“Too bad we don’t have the energy or the big empty hotel suite for that,” Bruce said with a sigh.

“Then we’ll just have to settle for one, or maybe two, orgasms a piece, won’t we?”  Clark pulled Bruce onto him and they kissed as Bruce started grinding his hips, seemingly wanting to waste no more time.  Clark was on the same page, so he started unbuttoning Bruce’s shirt while Bruce’s hands went for Clark’s belt.  The clothes were quickly shed and they collapsed back on to the bed and became delightfully tangled around one another. 

Bruce pushed Clark onto his back and began kissing and licking his way down his body.  Clark threaded his fingers through Bruce’s hair and closed his eyes.  He was feeling _wonderful_ … right up until the moment he heard… _something_.  His eyes came open at the sound of some sort of commotion downstairs, directly below their bedroom, if he wasn’t mistaken.

“Bruce –“

“Mm, baby,” Bruce sighed.  And Clark realized he _should_ want to go and check out what was going on downstairs, but how often did Bruce call him baby?  And he tried never to walk away from sex with his husband (who he’d often thought must have been some kind of sex god). 

He put everything else out of his mind, but only for a few minutes.  At that point, he heard a voice (a voice he was certain belonged to Damian) saying, “I will destroy you, you cretin.”

“There’s a situation,” Clark sighed, reluctantly opening his eyes and moving to sit up partially.

Bruce groaned and glanced up into Clark’s eyes.  “Emergency?”

“Not really.”

“Disaster?”

“Not in the traditional sense.”

“Then what?”

“Your children.”

Bruce sighed and sat up.   “They’re always _my_ children when they’re being hellions.” 

“That’s when they most resemble you,” Clark replied.  They both reluctantly left the bed, threw on pajama bottoms, and went downstairs.  They followed the sound of annoyed voices downstairs, where they found Damian wrestling with Jason while Cassandra and Stephanie watched from the sidelines, occasionally cheering and whooping.

“Seriously, you guys?” Clark asked.  The girls looked up, with guilty expressions on their faces, but the boys didn’t stop wrestling. 

Bruce scowled.  “This ends _now_ ,” he barked.  Once they had stopped, Bruce asked, “Jason, why are you here?”

“Sure as hell not here to see you,” he huffed.  “I heard Alfred was in the hospital and I wanted to know what the hell you all did to him.”

“No one _did_ anything,” Clark replied.  “He slipped on the ice and hurt himself.  But he’s going to be okay.”

“And if you were so interested in checking on Alfred, why were the two of you rolling around on the floor like a couple of animals?” Bruce asked, thoroughly unamused.

Damian blurted. “He came in here uninvited, Father!” at the same time as Jason said, “The little freak attacked me!”

Bruce nodded.  “And a wrestling match just spontaneously broke out, I suppose.”  He turned expectantly to the girls and silently compelled them to tell whatever they knew about this situation.

“We… we didn’t see anything,” Stephanie said.  “Did we, Cass?”

Cassandra shook her head before replying, “No, I don’t believe we did.”

Bruce sighed in exasperation so Clark placed a hand on his shoulder.  “Damian, weren’t you supposed to be with Dick and Babs this evening anyways?” Clark asked.

“Grayson informed me that he and Gordon were going to be too occupied to take me to have pizza, as I was promised,” Damian said, pouting.  “I don’t care about the pizza… but I don’t appreciate the lies.”

“Oh, boo hoo,” Jason mocked, rolling his eyes.  Clark rather suspected that Jason was the tiniest bit jealous of the relationship Dick and Damian shared, and that’s why he was unsympathetic to Damian’s plight. 

Bruce crossed his arms.  “It amazes me that I have to say this to a grown man and to...” He turned to Damian.  “To _you_ , but stop fighting.  I have neither the time nor the inclination to deal with it right now.  I was in the middle of something important upstairs, and…”

“What were you in the middle of?” Stephanie interrupted, wearing a smile the spoke of the sweetest faux innocence.  She and Cass giggled together at that, and Damian shot them a murderous glance.

“What your father is getting at is that it’s time for bed,” Clark supplied.  “It’s been a long day and everyone needs some sleep.”

“ _Sleep_ ,” Jason reiterated in a sarcastic tone.  “Right.  That’s what you need.”

Bruce sighed heavily.  “ _We_ are going back to bed.  You will _all_ be quiet, whether that means sleeping or sitting around with your headphones on, I don’t much care.”  He took Clark’s hand.  “Come on.”

“Goodnight,” Clark managed as Bruce pulled him back to the stairs.

Before Clark blocked out any sounds (save those coming from him and Bruce) he heard Jason say, “Alright, kid.  D’ya wanna go for pizza or what?”

To which Damian responded, “Only if I’m driving.”  Four sets of feet scampered out of the house, and he felt like telling Bruce about that last comment, but the impulse passed rather quickly.

**Author's Note:**

> "The blue thing with the things" is a Simpsons reference. =P


End file.
